


I Am Going To Make it Through This Year (If It Kills Me)

by spookyvulcan



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death (Implied), Character Study, Drunken Confessions, Drunken promises, Drunkenness, Infection, M/M, Possible Character Death, THAT one fic in which Wilde gets blue veins, Virus, actually just an oscar wilde character study, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyvulcan/pseuds/spookyvulcan
Summary: Oscar knew what this meant. He knew it really was a matter of time for one of them to catch them. He was just hoping it wouldn’t be him. He knew he didn’t have long. Especially since there was a promise to be fulfilled.Zolf had promised he would kill Oscar if he was infected.He promised.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	I Am Going To Make it Through This Year (If It Kills Me)

Oscar knew what this meant. He knew it really was a matter of time for one of them to catch them. He was just hoping it wouldn’t happen. It was one of those fantasies he allowed himself to have. He knew he didn’t have long. Especially since there was a promise to be fulfilled.

Zolf had promised he would kill Oscar if he was infected.

 _He promised_.

That thought was the only thing that was managing to clench the anxiety curling around his chest. Every second that passed only meant he was drifting further away from the person that he was. If he could even say that anymore. There certainly didn’t seem to be many traces of the old Oscar Wilde left in him.

Admittedly, the bard had changed a lot. At first, it had almost been unnoticeable, but as months wore by it had become more and more obvious. Somewhere along the way he had simply stopped hiding it. He was very much fine. He didn’t need anyone going after him asking if he was alright, thank you very much.

Oscar had started working for the meritocrats more on a whim to seek out peril than anything else. But the fun had ran out quicker than he had had time to predict.

His job was meant to be relatively easy. Handle this group of mercenaries and make sure they did what the meritocrats wanted. But then things changed. Some of the orders he started to receive didn’t make sense or they changed at the last minute.

Looking back, he knew he stayed working for them for far too long. Longer than he knew how to justify. Wilde wasn’t stupid. He had noticed the change fairly soon, although that didn’t mean he had actively acted upon it.

Then he had lost his magic. He lost the four persons he could trust. They were all but dead as far as he knew. Then the outbreak happened. Then the scar happened.

Then Zolf also happened.

Wilde had seeked Zolf out as soon as he got notice that the cleric was researching the weather happenings. More importantly, that he was _alive_. That was more than he could say for so many people he had known.

So, he started working with Zolf. They became companions, relaying on each other and only each other for eighteen months.

The time they had shared together had changed their perspectives on a lot of things.

* * *

_It was a rather late night and Zolf could feel the – now – familiar warmth of the bard’s body leaning against his. They hadn’t talked about whatever this was. The cleric doubted they ever would, but he was okay with that. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to put it into words, he had never been too good at that, anyway._

_“Promise me you’ll kill me, Zolf” Wilde said. His voice was soft and unguarded, which was rare._

_Somewhere through their third night in quarantine they had found Carter’s secret alcohol stash. The man didn’t have it as well hidden as he thought, apparently. One drink turned into another, and the rest is known._

_Zolf didn’t get to see Wilde like this often. Relaxed, without his defences up. Without having his brain one step ahead to outwit anything that could leave your mouth. Without that coldness that seemed to surround him lately. That’s probably why the cleric was rather startled. Or so he told himself._

_“Kill you if what?” Zolf asked back, gently turning allowing his blue eyes to look at Wilde. His gaze was lost somewhere between the metal bars of the anti-magic cell they were currently in. He looked as if he was very far away. The tips of his long slender fingers gently brushing the relatively new scar that now tainted his face._

_“If I get infected.” Wilde clarified. “I want you to kill me.”_

_Zolf felt his breath catch in his throat._

_“Oscar…” The cleric said. When had he stopped thinking of him as Wilde and had started calling him Oscar? When had things changed so much? In all this time, Zolf had found that Wilde was much more than the façade he had put on for so long._

_“Please, Zolf”_

_“Fine. I promise.”_

_“Thank you.” Wilde said with a small sigh. His shoulders seemed to relax, as if he had gotten a huge weight off his chest. These past few months had been hard for the two of them. Probably more for Oscar, Zolf imagined. He had watched Wilde become even more distant that he had already been when they first met again on their own._

_Zolf understood why Oscar had become this way. It felt a bit ironic how the two of them seemed to be heading in opposite ways. The dwarf had become a cleric of hope. He had got so filled with optimism and hope that he was magic, while Wilde had been losing hope every step they took in this brave new world._

* * *

Wilde felt a rather loud sigh slip past his mouth as his head slumped against his knees while he sat on the floor. He guessed that in no more than a couple of hours Zolf would come back to check on him and he’d have to tell him.

The bard was glad that Zolf wasn’t the one infected. He was also glad Zolf didn’t act the same way he did when someone came back. That meant that he didn’t have to stand seeing someone he _cared for_ and _trusted_ give him nothing. Oscar knew he became cold and a stranger whenever Zolf or anyone came back from a mission and they had to undergo the quarantine period. He simply wasn’t going to let it happen again. He wasn’t going to let himself trust someone. Wilde had learnt the hard way that it was hard to trust someone these days. He had the scar to show for it.

Oscar had lost all hope of winning. He knew there was no winning. It was too late for that. Maybe some semblance of civilization could be salvaged, but that was it. God knew the Harlequins were certainly trying to rescue whatever they could. He still managed to feel a stinging in his chest at the thought. So many silly hopes of what could have happened after the world had been saved had always come to him after spending too much time awake. Zolf featured in most of those stupid hopes the bard allowed himself to have, even if he’d never say it out loud.

But Wilde knew the mission was the most important thing. He had told Zolf enough times. More important than what he wanted. More important than whatever had been left unspoken. He knew what he had to do. What he had to ask Zolf to do.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is the first time i've written something for rqg so i hope it lives up to standards!! i would also love to hear everyone's thoughts on it and you can find me in tumblr under benmeredithjail


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